Open Windows
by ficcychick
Summary: On his return to Neverland, Peter decides it's not the same without anyone around, especially Wendy. Realizing that meeting Wendy has brought him to a new level of maturity, he has some tough decisions to make. PeterxWendy. Teen to be on the safe side.
1. Peter's Realization

**Obligatory Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, I just like to play with them.**

He never imagined it could be so silent. That was the first thing he had noticed upon his return, the complete stillness of the place now that everyone had gone. The pirates were dead, slumbering forever at the bottom of the sea, and the Indians who had not perished in that last great battle had gone to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Most importantly, and hardest to bear, the Boys had gone. It was the hardest loss of all, being abandoned by those he had taken care of and nurtured in his own way, that rag-tag band who had been a part of so many of his greatest adventures.

It was a strange feeling for Peter, the aching empty place in his chest. His heart was still beating, of that he was sure, but he didn't feel that it was beating with the same determination as in times past. Something was wrong, but Peter didn't want to admit what it was. His somber mood had even sent Tink packing, she who was his staunchest ally and greatest friend. She had departed a few days after they had come back, promising to return in a few weeks. Tink gave no explanation or inclination to her whereabouts, but Peter was respectful of her privacy. Besides, it gave him time to think without interruption by her constant barrage of rude remarks designed to make him forget.

A routine had emerged in the days following her departure. Peter would spend his days wandering aimlessly about the island, and as the sun set would bed down for the night wherever he happened to be, avoiding the little house where they had once lived so happily: himself, Tink, the Boys, Wendy.

Wendy. Just the thought of her or the sound of her name made the ache in Peter's chest sharpen. His beautiful Wendy, who wanted everything but to whom he could promise nothing. Peter hadn't been sure yet just what everything was, but he knew it involved staying behind, turning into a man and losing himself. He had offered Wendy Neverland, holding it out to her like a ripe plum, and she had rejected it for her own world, a world Peter believed rotten to the core.

It was a world where he had been forgotten, when in returning to his window he saw his parents with a new child, cooing happily and showering such love upon it that Peter had no cause to believe his parents cared at all what had become of their firstborn son. Now Wendy had gone back, taking the Boys with her, and he was soon to be forgotten in their hearts as well, the only clues to his existence a few half-remembered dreams in those soft moments just before dawn, where one hovers between asleep and awake.

Lying on his stomach, peering down into a deep pool of water, Peter sighed. "Am I always to be abandoned?" A single tear rolled down his cheek and fell, a tiny ripple in the smooth clear surface. It was strange, but somehow Peter felt that tear in the pool represented his place in the world, in the lives of Wendy and the Boys--a brief disturbance in an otherwise calm existence. Had she really changed him that much, that he was now able to draw parallels between these minor occurrences and his own being? Before Wendy he wouldn't have even known what a parallel was, and now this type of thinking filled every corner of his mind. Had she aged him somehow, brought him to a new level of maturity?

Anger flared briefly at this thought, that she had somehow tricked him into growing up, just a little, despite everything she knew he wanted and believed in. The feeling subsided almost as quickly as it had risen, because as much as it pained him to admit it, the things he wanted and believed in didn't seem as important anymore. There was no one here to have adventures with now except Tink, and currently they couldn't stand to be around one another. There was no one to look up to him, no one for him to lead, and no one for him to crow to. You can only tell yourself how clever you are so many times before it begins to grow old.

It seemed to Peter that he was standing at a crossroads with no markers to give him direction. If he went one way he would remain eternally youthful and free to roam the world as he chose. After all, there were other windows, weren't there, and other children he could bring to the Neverland. But if he chose the other path, the only sure thing he knew laying ahead was Wendy, and only one window in London led to her beautiful face. It suddenly seemed he was far too young to make this kind of choice and he wept, wept for his lack of experience and knowledge, wept for his losses, and wept because for the first time in his life he wasn't sure what to do.

He fell asleep, tears still streaming down his cheeks, but slept soundly all through the night and most of the next day, exhausted from the rush of emotions that had overcome him. It was a dreamless sleep for once, no clashing swords or men in suits. Just blackness, sweet deep blackness helping him to arrange his thoughts. He woke to the realization that he had made a decision, and his heavy heart was slightly lighter. He would fly to her window that night, just a little peek, just to see if she remembered him. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would work for now, affording him a few moments' peace. Now that his world had been turned upside down, what more could he ask for?


	2. A Late Night Visitor

Night had fallen over London and the Darling children were getting ready for bed. Mrs. Darling tucked them snug under their blankets and made sure the nightlights were burning strong to keep watch over them through the night. No mention was made of the window, but if they had looked they would have seen a familiar fair-haired boy on the other side.

Peter looked upon the little scene with great sadness--how much the Boys had already changed! Many of them had grown noticeably taller, and their faces and hands were scrubbed clean. The Boys had also adopted the short, near hairstyles of their new family, and, Peter noted sadly, not one knee bore a scab or a bruise, not one elbow a scratch. Those limbs that he had served so faithfully now had new masters, and under their regime were far less likely to be injured.

There were beds lined all around the nursery, the twins' stacked like bunks in a ship. Each bed held a body, each pillow a head, but Peter soon notices that each of these was decidedly male. Wendy had been moved out of the nursery!

Peter's heart began to race frantically. Where had she gone? Where had they sent her? Had they sent her away? Was she even now miles from the family home in some boarding school for proper young ladies? There were thousands of windows in London alone! How would he ever find her if she were gone? He was nearly ready to fly away to launch his search when the soft music of Mrs. Darling's voice floated through the window.

"Now, my dears, I must go and check on our Wendy. Though she is nearly fifteen, and much more grown-up than my dear little boys, she still has need of a mother's love."

The Boy began to dance with joy, as much as one could dance while hovering in mid-air. As if they would have truly sent Wendy away. He had been mad to think it! She just had a new window, a place that was all her own, away from the noise and hubbub that a passel of young boys could create. All he had to do now was find the window, and if there was one thing Peter loved, it was a challenge.

Though it had many windows, the Darlings' house was not exceedingly large, so it took him no time at all to find the new window, the Wendy window. It was perfectly placed, for right outside grew a great climbing yellow rose which filled the night air with scent and would fill her room with the same…if the window were open. He took a deep breath of the rosebush before drawing closer and peeking into the room.

Mrs. Darling stood behind her daughter, who was seated at a vanity with her back to the window. In the mirror Peter could see how sad Wendy's eyes were, eyes that he had seen so bright and full of life and excitement. He could also see it was not the weight of her mother's hand that made Wendy's shoulders slouch.

"Don't stay up too late, my dear," Mrs. Darling said before placing a kiss on Wendy's cheek. "You really must get more rest." She lingered a moment before walking out.

"I'll try, Mother," was all Wendy said, her hand at her throat, fingering something which lay there in its hollow. Upon closer inspection, Peter could see it was his kiss, the selfsame one that had saved her life when Tink had tricked Tootles into shooting her. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as a tear tolled down her cheek, and she lay her head upon her arms and began to cry in earnest.

Peter shrank back against the rosebush. "This will not do!" he said to himself, angry over Wendy's sadness. "I must make her happy again. But how?" He watched and thought all night before it got close to dawn and he had to fly away or risk being seen. Somehow he knew it would not behoove him to be seen flying over London in broad daylight, and besides, Wendy had fallen asleep hours ago. He needed to think, and truth be told, he did his best thinking back home in the little house.

He carefully plucked a rose from the bush and placed it on the windowsill before flying away. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Wendy Wakes

**Thanks for the reviews and the story alert adds, here's the next chapter. Sorry it's short, working on a lot of different fics right now. **

**Beth :)**

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Wendy woke with the sun streaming brightly through her eastern window. Another night of dreams, of chases and endless entreaties on deaf ears. She thought to herself that she had become the patron saint of lost causes of late, not without some bitterness. Months had passed and she could not get the tinkling sounds from her ears, the salty earthiness from her nose, and most of all, the exuberant youth from her heart. Neverland was as much a part of her being as her very blood, and she could not rend it from her soul no matter how she tried. Having the Boys around caused problems as well, for in their faces she caught glimpses of _his_ face, his mannerisms, his bright happy youth. In this way, moving her from the nursery was in fact a small kindness.

She heard a bird singing outside her window, as sweet a song as she had ever heard, and she went to open it so she could better hear the melody. A canary hopped along the sill, and as it did Wendy's eyes were drawn to the rose lying upon it. Her heart immediately leapt at the sight, for how else could the flower have gotten there if not for by the hand of a very special boy, the most wonderful boy in all the world? Peter had been to see her--he must have missed her! It was the only explanation she wanted to believe, for how could she stand if it were anything else?

Wendy couldn't deny that her heart was jealous at the thought of Peter flying to other windows, speaking to other girls, taking other girls to Neverland. Her heart raged with the picture of Peter showing another girl how to fly and fight. In imagining another girl living in the Little House, _her _house, her hurt and anger was like a hurricane in which the eye is almost too small to be seen, an endless crashing assault of wind and storm. In her eyes, Peter was hers alone--_she_ had given him his first kiss, _she_ had taught him how to love…almost. No other girl could or should lay claim to his heart, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen someday, or that it wasn't happening even now as Wendy looked upon the rose. He may have been in London looking through other windows, finding others to steal away. Others who wouldn't ask so much of him, for surely there were girls out there who would gladly go away to a land of plenty and never miss their families. Wendy was just one of the type that have to complicate things.

The sound of the Boys stampeding downstairs for breakfast snapped Wendy out of her angry reverie and back into reality, and reality dictated that she was to have her piano lesson this morning at nine-thirty, followed by a visit from her French tutor. School was not currently in session, but her parents insisted she keep up with her studies. It had been hard slipping back into the daily routine upon her return from the Neverland, and she'd had to work hard to make up the lost time, but she had done it without complaint. It briefly kept her mind off the one thing she couldn't stop thinking of.

Wendy sighed and took a last breath of the rose's heady scent before tossing it to the ground below. She already had enough souvenirs from the Boy, she did not need another. It, like Peter, would only wither away in the grasp of her embrace.


	4. Making a Choice

**Thanks to all of you for the reviews and the adds, I really appreciate them! :) On with the story!**

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For Peter the day passed quickly, too quickly. He had been thinking ever since he left her window, the same things swirling round and round in his mind but never settling into something resembling a decision. Basically it all boiled down to one thing: stay in Neverland, alone and unhappy, or leave it all behind and walk bravely into the unknown. He was brave, he knew, but to what extent? He had only recently discovered what love was--Neverland was his whole identity. If he went to London, he would lose everything that he thought he was and become just another boy struggling both toward and away from being a man.

Not for the first time in recent memory Peter found himself longing for someone to talk to, to guide him in the right direction, but the only person who might have had any insight into his predicament was lying in defeat at the bottom of the sea. Peter could pretend to use Hook's voice, but couldn't supply the words he wanted and needed to hear. Besides that, what would Hook have said to him anyway? He couldn't imagine the man he had fought and humiliated so many times taking him aside into his cabin and sitting him down over port and cigars to give him fatherly advice. The sharp end of a hook maybe, but never advice. The Boy laughed at the thought of it, shaking the Little House where it sat among the branches.

"There is only one thing to do," he finally said, though no one was around to hear. "I must speak to Wendy." He wasn't sure if it was the right decision, but it was the only one that made sense, and he leaned back against the wall to try and catch a few hours of sleep.

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Another night in her new room. Mrs. Darling had already performed the nightly rounds, tucking her children in with care and always with the hope they would still be there in the morning, but Wendy could not sleep and was again sitting at her vanity. Truth be told, she was waiting, and her window was open. The discovery of the rose on her sill that morning had sparked a tiny flame of hope that Peter might return, even if he was flying to other windows in other houses.

She knew she was taking Peter's refusal to stay harder than the others, that it had changed her from a happy, carefree girl into a sad ghost of her former self, but she needed time. He had been her first love, and at this point she felt he would be her only love. She knew her mother understood, and The Boys would understand when they were older, and though she knew it was growing up that Peter had rejected, Wendy felt that somehow it was herself and her willingness to do so. That by buying in to love and the possibility of a future she had betrayed him and his trust in her. This thought caused a fresh stream of tears to begin its course down her pretty cheeks.

"I should think you would be all out of tears by now, Wendy," a familiar voice said, and Wendy looked up to see his reflection in her mirror, real instead of imagined for once.

"It seems I have an endless supply," she replied, turning to face her window. He was there, sitting on her sill, looking tired and, it could not escape her notice, a little older. Though her heart was racing at the sight of him, she kept her voice controlled. She had to try to keep the upper hand on her heart this time.

"Can I inquire as to the nature of these tears?" Peter asked. "Or would you keep that information secret?"

"You've changed, Peter," she said softly. "You sound so different, so…" A pause, afraid to say it.

"Grown up?" he said, and laughed a strange laugh. "It's amazing how much someone can change in certain circumstances, Wendy. I can make complex observations now, draw parallels, speak with words that were once beyond the spectrum of my conversation. It's almost like I'm a different person. Why, earlier I was even longing for Hook to rise from the grave so he could give me fatherly advice!" He laughed again, but still without the gaiety his voice held in Neverland.

An awkward silence rose as Wendy failed to join in the laughter, and the tension in the room was growing unbearable.

"Wendy, I--" he began just as Wendy said "Peter, why--".

"Ladies first," he said, his heart racing. It was the strangest feeling, almost like the rush he got from flying, but with the knowledge that there was so much more at stake.

"Peter, why are you here? You made your point very clear when you left to return to Neverland."

"I wanted to see you, Wendy." He smiled a sad little half-smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Peter, but I can't stand seeing you and knowing that at the end of the night you're just going to fly away again, leaving me here longing for Neverland and for you, to be near you."

"Then be near me, Wendy," he said, his voice husky.

"Peter, don't you understand? I _want_ to grow up. I _want_ to get married and have children and a home, and if I go back with you none of that will ever happen. I'm getting too far past the point where thinking Neverland would ever take the place of living a real life, because as much fun as it sounds, it's not _real_. Every day is the same, and you are so mindless of everything and everyone around you. I want to have a life, Peter, a real life." Her eyes were angry, but her face was just sad.

Peter slipped inside her room and walked over to her, tentatively taking her hand. "But Wendy, I'm scared."

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**Author's Note: Sorry it was another pretty short chapter, but once I wrote that last sentence, I felt it was a natural place for me to stop. I'm going to try to update a few more times this week, but I'm pretty busy with other writing and RL, so bear with me. Thanks!**

**Beth**


	5. A Regular Boy

**A/N: **I apologize for the delay in updating, not only have I been very busy packing for my upcoming move, but I have also been suffering from the _worst_ case of writer's block. As a result, I am not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I needed to set the mood for some upcoming events. So, hopefully this has helped me over the giant stumbling block and back into the story!

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It had been a long day, Up early in the morning for some last minute revisions, then a full day of tests and themes and presentations followed by a cricket match for his school, and then home for piano lessons and a quick supper before his nighttime study period. Not every day was as full, but many of them were, and Peter was tired. He hardly had time to think, let alone to see Wendy, and one year after his arrival he couldn't lie and say he was completely happy.

He would wake in the night hearing bells and think it was Tink before he realized it was just the clock in the hallway. He dreamt of pirates and Indians and mermaids in their blue lagoon, and most of all he dreamt of flying. He had almost never spent a day without flying, and now he couldn't remember the slightest thing about the practice except the freedom he only felt in his dreams. While he had been prepared to lose many things, somehow he had never thought flying would be one of them.

Life with the Darlings wasn't all bad, however. He had been reunited with the Boys, and he was firmly ensconced in Wendy's heart and that of her family. Even Nana had finally taken a liking to him, and if there was one thing a boy needed it was the love of a faithful dog. He had a family to care for and who cared for him, a warm place to sleep and food to fill his belly, and he had fine clothes and had embarked on a good though speedy education. In truth, he had everything a boy could wish for. Everything, that is, except for adventure.

It was nearing bedtime, and as he was wont to do each night, Peter stood at his window looking out over the city. He kept it open as weather permitted, Wendy's wild boy, and sometimes he could smell a sweet breeze coming from the East. It had the perfume of a thousand nights spent on the back of the wind and the spicy scent of something foreign, just out of reach. It tugged and pulled at his soul until he thought he would die from longing sometimes. It wasn't easy, this transition from wildling to young man.

Beyond the horizon, as much of it as Peter could see, the stars twinkled. To normal human eyes, this would be just a pretty light show, the natural effect of the universe. However, in Peter's eyes the stars were speaking in a secret code, one that was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to decipher. Granted, stars spoke mostly nonsense anyway, so even when he was in the Neverland he could barely make sense of them. They appeared to be in a state of agitation about something, and Peter was on the verge of understanding when he was interrupted by a knock at his door.

He had been expecting it--Mrs. Darling still made her nightly rounds. Even though it had been nearly a year since his arrival and he had shown no signs of leaving, she still carried a deep fear in her heart. Experience had made her wary, and every morning she feared he might have up and gone in the night, taking her children away with him forever.

"One moment, Mrs. Darling," Peter called as he crawled into his bed and pulled the covers up. Knowing what she thought, he didn't like for her to see him at the window, even if he _had_ forgotten how to fly. "You may come in."

The door creaked open slowly and her familiar figure entered the room. She was still very beautiful, the vision of what Wendy would become someday if time progressed as it should. "It's time for bed, Peter dear," she said, her voice almost as the tinkle of bells. "The others have been asleep for some time now, and you have school in the morning."

"I was just on my way to sleep," he said, feeling rather sorry for the lie.

"You might find pajamas more comfortable in that respect," Mrs. Darling said, her eyes not missing the fact that he was still fully dressed.

The Boy blushed and began to stutter an explanation, but Mrs. Darling reached her hand out to caress his cheek, a sad smile fleeting across her lips. "You don't have to explain, Peter. Just be sure to get some sleep tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, and she turned to go. As the door closed behind her, Peter removed his shoes, blew out his lamp and turned on his side to face the window. The stars were still speaking, but he had given up on trying to understand what they were saying. He had the feeling that Mrs. Darling grasped something of what he was going through, however. He had seen the understanding in her eyes, no matter her fears.

That night Peter dreamed. It was a rare thing for him to do so now that he lived in the world of men, but this dream was as vivid and terrifying as any he had ever had in the Neverland. In the dream, Peter lived his whole life from that point forward. He grew up, got a job, and married Wendy. First there was a girl, then a boy, then two girls at once. Life flew by quickly, and the only thing Peter could see was an eternity of drudgery for little reward. Wendy turned from him and became more involved with the children and grandchildren after them, and he was only looked upon to provide for this ever-growing, ever-demanding brood. The romance gave way to reality, and once Peter could see past the pink, fluffy clouds of first love and view the harsh grays of life, only interspersed with color now and then, he was stricken with fear and regret.

He woke covered in sweat, his heart racing. It was only a dream, he knew, but he was a boy used to living in a world saturated with the colors of life, and even the thought of Wendy's sweet face wasn't enough to reassure him that he hadn't made a mistake.

It was only nearing dawn, a few hours before the rest of the house would wake, but Peter knew he would sleep no more that night. Instead he curled up, wrapping his arms around his skinny knees, and stared out the window as the sky changed from black to gray to palest blue, the very color of her eyes. His heart was heavy, and even the birds dared not sing.


	6. By the Seaside

A/N: Thank you all soooooooo so much for all the kind reviews. They are much appreciated!!

I'm not quite sure this chapter works, but I wasn't sure how else to get from point a to point b. Let me know.

Beth

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It was nearing the end of summer and the Darlings had gone on holiday. The latest school session had ended, leaving the children free to accompany their parents, so Mr. Darling had rented a large rambling house by the sea for a few weeks. It was owned by one of his colleagues at work, an old family residence now used as a holiday retreat, and the months of disuse gave it a hollow, musty smell. Upon their arrival, Mrs. Darling set to cleaning immediately, doling out tasks to the younger children and Wendy while Mr. Darling took Peter and John to town for supplies.

Peter was glad of the escape, an Mr. Darling was far less attentive and worrisome than his wife. Under the not-so-watchful eye of his foster father, he might be able to rustle up a small bit of adventure and harmless mischief. They made their way into the local market, a list in Mr. Darling's pocket going unused as they browsed the sellers' wares.

"What do you boys want for supper this evening?" Mr. Darling asked, taking in a lungful of the salty sea air.

"Oh look, Father! Look at this! I want crabs for supper!" John cried, dragging his father toward a stall bearing the legend 'Mrs. James' Bounty of the Sea--Fresh Daily' and manned by a wrinkled old woman who looked to be as old as the sea itself. While Mr. Darling and John were engrossed by the selection of crabs and other sea creatures on display, Peter saw his chance and slipped away.

Walking among the booths and stalls, Peter followed the example of his foster father and took a great breath, smiling. Mixed in with the salt of the sea, the scent of the various goods and the unmistakable smell of man was another scent, light but heady--the smell of freedom. It had been so long since that scent had tickled his nostrils that it instantly sent his mind soaring, even when his body could not. If anything else could have made the moment more perfect, it would have been lifting up above the bright curtains and awnings of the market stalls and crowing gaily at the people below.

Peter made his way away from the market toward the boardwalk. It seemed every picturesque seaside town had one of these, reminding Peter of the plank of the Jolly Roger. He had been forced to walk that narrow scrap of wood many a time, and had always emerged triumphant. How many victories had he known? Too many to count. His triumph had a bitter aftertaste these days, knowing that his best and mortal enemy lay in pieces at the bottom of the sea, his bones by now likely washed white and worn smooth by the sand and grit on the ocean floor. Wouldn't James Hook laugh to see Peter as he was now, a proper young man in proper seaside holiday attire, starched and pressed and scratchy, hot beneath the summer sun. He could hear the old man now.

"_Look at you, you little mother's boy! Can't even hold a sword now, let alone fight with one! I ought to take my hook and put you out of your misery." _He would sigh and turn to Smee. _"How sad the world is without the great Pan. Why, it's hardly worth getting out of bed for these days."_

Peter growled, disgusted, and launched himself over the railing of the boardwalk. He hadn't gone too far out on it, so the water was only ankle deep when he landed. "I can _too_ hold a sword," he said to himself, petulant like a child. "I would prove it if I had one." He kicked angrily at the water and sent a crab that had been making its way toward him flying back out to the sea. Fearing a pinching revenge, Peter made his way back to dry land. As he did, he noticed a large stick near the edge of the beach and ran to it. It wasn't a sword, but it would do for the time being.

He shed his jacket and loosened his collar, removing his shoes and rolling his pants slightly higher before taking the stick in his hand. He swung it once to test its heft, and finding it pleasing began an intricate series of jabs and slashes that were his signature sword fighting style. He was a little rusty, that he could not deny, but after about thirty minutes' time he found himself moving almost as effortlessly as he had once upon a time. As he plunged the sword into his imaginary quarry's stomach, he bowed and wiped his brow, acknowledging victory. As he began to catch his breath, he heard clapping from across the beach.

"Well done, Peter." It was Mr. Darling, a broad grin on his face. "We should talk to the fencing master next term to see about putting you on the team."

"Yes, that was amazing!" John added. "Just like--" he stopped suddenly. Mr. Darling didn't like to speak of the Neverland, believing it complete fancy in his otherwise ordinary and conventional world. "Just like some of the older boys," he quickly added, but Peter wasn't sure if it had been quickly enough.

"Thank you," he said. "It had been quite a while since I had last practiced." He threw the stick down and gathered his clothes. "Let me help you carry those packages, Mr. Darling." He left himself behind on the beach, the Peter he had become following the others back to the house.

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The house was clean by the time they returned, and Mrs. Darling teasingly scolded her husband and the two boys when she saw the purchases they had made instead of those she had intended. Peter began to sneak past everyone up to his room when she called to him.

"Oh, Peter, you have a letter here. Don't ask me how they found you since we've only just arrived, but a man brought it by while you were out."

A strange sinking feeling started in Peter's stomach as he took the letter from Mrs. Darling and mumbled a quick thanks. If the writing hadn't been familiar enough, the seal pressed in the blob of red wax on the back was. But it was impossible! Not only was he here, in the real world, the world of Men, but the sender was dead. Surely he was dead, Peter had sent him to the depths where the crocodile had been waiting. No man could have escaped that! But then he realized, James Hook wasn't just any man.

Peter ran to his room, closed the door, and ripped the letter open.

"_Dear Peter,_

_Surprise! I can only imagine this is what you must be feeling as you read this, and therefore I felt inclined to say it. So the great and mighty Pan has left the Neverland for the world of Men, following his little Wendy-bird and facing death, true, everlasting death. My hat off to you, Peter, I admire your bravery. However, I doubt the transition has been an easy one, and no doubt you have had many sleepless nights._

_I offer you a chance to return to your life here, Peter, just as I was offered a chance to return. I'm sure the little fairy girl still knows her way if you are interested. Remember what I offer you: glory, victory, the chance to be a hero. I am lost here in the Neverland without you, just as you are lost in the world of Men without me. We need each other, Pan, as much as it disgusts me to admit it._

_I will give you three days to consider my offer. If you choose to accept it, to return to the Neverland and once again rule over it all as a king, send word by the old man who lives in the boathouse. He will know how to reach me._

_Yours,_

_Captain Jas. Hook_

Peter was in shock, reading and rereading the words of the letter. Hook was alive! And what was more, he was offering Peter the chance to return to the Neverland. He could fly again, he could fight! He could crow, which he did, loudly and repeatedly, dancing around the room holding the letter like a treasure.

"What is so wonderful?" a familiar voice asked, and Peter stopped in his tracks. Wendy. He had forgotten Wendy. "Peter?" He turned to face her standing in the doorway, and she looked beautiful, her long hair brushed out and laying down her back over the collar of her summer gown. Peter dropped the letter, and for one of the first times in his life, he didn't know what to say.

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Additional A/N: I am moving this weekend and won't have internet service for a while (snafus with the cable company, gotta love it), so I am not sure when the next update will be. Hopefully sometime before I begin school and have no free time! :) Until the next installment, thanks again! :)


	7. Maybe, Maybe Not

It had been two days since Peter had received Hook's letter, and he still had no response. Certainly he knew what he wanted to do in his heart of hearts, but he knew what that would do to Wendy, and to her family, who had come to accept him as one of their own. The Boys, John, Michael—all of them were like his own brothers now, and he felt sick at the possibility of abandoning them. Wendy…she would never forgive him this time, he knew. If he left her again, there was no way back into her good graces. A girl isn't likely to let the same boy who broke her heart no less than three times come back for more.

Still…the possibility sparkled before him like a diamond. If he could engage in just one last swordfight with his most mortal of enemies, perhaps he could let Neverland go. He wouldn't have to kill Hook. In fact, he might even bestow the Neverland into Hook's safekeeping, just in case there was a chance he could return someday when his life here was ended. Of course, he would have to make sure the old man would promise not to destroy it, to only fight the Indians to a draw, to preserve the fairy grottoes and the mermaid pools. But certainly Hook was honorable enough for that.

It was hard to escape his family at the seaside, what with everyone insisting on even more togetherness than usual. Trips to the beach for swimming and forays to the boardwalk for fresh seafood and other goodies made certain that Peter was not often alone.

On the afternoon of the third day, a sudden cloudburst moved across the land, ensuring that the Darlings were kept inside in their multitudes. Taking what he thought might be his only opportunity to escape as Mr. and Mrs. Darling dozed in the parlor and the boys played in their rooms a bove, Peter grabbed an old umbrella from the stand by the door and stole out into the rain.

He struggled for a few moments with the brolly, as one of its wires was bent slightly, and ultimately ended up throwing it back toward the house before running toward the shore. The boathouse was easy to find, even in the downpour, as brightly painted as it was. The sides were painted a light blue at the top, with darker blue waves rising toward the roof. It was meant to add charm to the little building, helping it to fit in with the boardwalk's vision of what might appeal to seaside tourists, but Peter was just glad that it stood out.

Peter was unsure how to go about entering the little house. Certainly there was a door, that was simple enough, but he had no sense of etiquette. Was he meant to knock, or could he just go in? Was there a little bell somewhere he didn't see that he was meant to ring? He had once been so used to just going where he pleased; even after a year there were still some areas of "civilized" life that he remained ignorant of.

Eventually he chose to knock; after all, it was just as polite as ringing a bell, and if the man said anything he could feign vision problems.

"The door's open!" a gruff voice called from within. Taking a deep breath, Peter steeled himself and went in.

"Hello?" he called out, tentative and uncertain, a puddle growing quickly around his feet as the rain ran from his clothes.

"I'm right here, boy," the man said, and Peter turned to see an old man sitting in the corner, a red and white striped blanket tucked around his legs. His gray hair was long and bedraggled, and his wrinkled skin told the story of a fair share of years on the sea. "What do you want? No boats today, weather's too bad."

"I'm not here about a boat, sir," Peter said, and cleared his throat. "I'm here about a message? A letter that was sent to me?" He stepped forward tentatively, but decided it was best to stay near the door. "I was told to make my answer known to you."

"Oh, aye? And what is it you wish to say?" the man asked, spitting a dark brown liquid into a brass pot. "Make it quick, I haven't got all day."

Peter hesitated for a moment as he thought of Wendy, but when he spoke his voice was firm and clear. "Tell the other party that I wish to remain as I am. That I thank him for his kind invitation, but that I can no longer be acquainted with him. I am where I wish to be."

"Are you certain of that?" the man asked. "It seemed to me your friend was not a man to be crossed."

"I'm certain," Peter said, and smiled. "For the first time in a long time, I am certain."

"I'll let your man know, boy. Now move along, I'm keen for a nap." The old man rearranged himself in the chair, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

"Thank—" Peter began, but the old man shushed him.

"I said move along, boy." His look was such that Peter dared not say another word, and he walked back out into the rain. It had slowed some, and looked to be clearing in the west. Maybe there would be enough time for a swim later if it stopped soon enough. His heart happy with the strength of his decision, Peter took his time walking back to the house, enjoying the feel of the rain on his face.

It was funny, this feeling. In Neverland he would never have taken the time to appreciate something as small as a raindrop on his cheek. It never rained there unless he was angry or sad anyway, and since that had been very rare, there wasn't much opportunity. Now that he was here, though, that he was mortal, aging, he thought that perhaps it was the sheer fact that he had a limited number of days that caused him to see things through another lens.

Wendy would never have to know that he had wavered, that he had almost been tempted to leave the home her family had made for him. Even though it would cause her joy to know that he had made the decision to stay, Peter knew that the fact that Hook was alive and had been in contact would be enough to make her worry. There was no point in creating a situation that would only cause everyone pain.

Peter made his way up the path to the house, pausing to pick up the broken umbrella he had so casually abandoned, and made his way to the house. He was surprised to see the door was open, but perhaps one of the Boys had pushed it open in a rough game and forgot to close it. He walked inside and called out to his family, but no one answered.

He peeked into the parlor where he had left Mr. and Mrs. Darling, but their chairs were empty.

"Maybe they're playing a game with the Boys," he said to himself, though a feeling of uneasiness was growing in his chest. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, but lost the spring in his step when he saw the Boys clustered around the door to Wendy's room. John was the first to notice him.

"She's gone," he said, his voice choked with emotion, tears behind his glasses. Peter shook his head, and pushed past the knot of bodies to see Mr. and Mrs. Darling sitting on Wendy's bed, a note in Mr. Darling's hand.

"What happened?" Peter asked. "Where is she?"

Mrs. Darling looked up, no trace of her smile remaining on her beautiful, but suddenly worn face. "Can't you guess?" she said, her voice colored with a shade Peter had never experienced. "She's with him. He took her. He took my baby, and it's all because of you."

"Now, darling," her husband began, but her expression stopped him cold, and he held the letter out to Peter.

_I suppose I should have mentioned, Pan, what would happen should you refuse me. You should look a little more closely at those whom you address. I decided against a nap; after all, there was so much to do. I've taken your Wendy-bird to Neverland with me. There's only one way to get her back, Peter, and I think you know what that is. The fairy will be there after midnight. I'll try to keep your precious darling safe, but then, we all know how easily accidents can happen._

_Captain Jas. A Hook_

Peter was in shock. The old man, the one at the boathouse—it had been Hook! He couldn't believe he had been taken in. There was more to his losses than he had suspected, and the ability to sense his oldest foe was one of them. Anger rose up, bitter in his throat, and he crumpled the note and threw it to the ground.

"What are you going to do?" Mr. Darling asked, holding his wife to his chest. Mrs. Darling refused to even look in Peter's direction.

"I'm going to get her back, aren't I? After all, like Mrs. Darling said, it's all my fault."

"Peter, you can't mind what she says. She's upset, she—" Mr. Darling began, but Peter held up a hand.

"She's right. If I had just gone with him; No, if I had never come, that would have been better." He smiled sadly at the man.

"Good thing I've been practicing my swordfighting," he said before he left the room. He pushed past the boys and climbed the stairs to the attic. He would wait for Tink there. She had always liked high places, and he needed some time alone. Maybe in that time, he could recall some of the parts of himself that he had lost. For Wendy's sake, he hoped so.


	8. Aboard the Jolly Roger

Wendy thought she was dreaming.

She had been in her room, reading a book. She still loved stories, the way the words created a sweep of images, made characters come to life, so real that by the end of the story you felt as if you had actually met them. That was what Peter had been, a story. Hook too, though now Wendy knew better.

Her door had opened, and she looked up, expecting to see her mother standing there, her hair just so, as always. He had been there instead, larger than life, just as she remembered him.

"Hello Wendy-bird," he said, his eyes flashing beneath the brim of his hat. Wendy had gasped. She had seen him beaten down by Peter, pushed over the edge and swallowed by the crocodile, and yet here he stood, his black curls glossy in the light, his red velvet coat immaculate, with not a trace of a toothmark to be found.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked, smiling as he twirled the end of his mustache with his good hand, lifting his hook just enough for the light to catch it.

"You're dead," was all she could manage. Hook laughed, a sound Wendy remembered in her dreams.

"And yet here I stand," he said, and gave a little bow. "And now you're coming with me, my dear girl. You can thank your darling Peter for the opportunity."

She hadn't struggled, hadn't screamed, even though Hook was more than outnumbered by her family. She had seen what he could do with that cold chunk of metal at the end of his arm, had seen him disembowel a man simply for answering a question wrong. Here, in this world, people didn't come back the way they did in Neverland. A hook to the belly meant the everlasting sleep.

Hook tossed a sheet of heavy cream-colored paper on the bed, and Wendy could see that it was a message, the swirls of his hand spelling out her fate. She took her book, for she had no idea how long she would be in the Neverland this time, and Hook's men loved a good story. Making barely a sound, she followed him down the stairs and out the front door, to where Smee had been waiting with a horse and buggy. The little man gave Wendy a funny little wave when he saw her, having always been fond of the girl.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Hook said, and as Wendy turned to ask him why, the world went black.

She woke hours later, already back on the Jolly Roger. She had no idea how they had gotten there, but then she supposed that was the reason Hook had knocked her out. Her head ached where he had hit her, but his blow had been well-aimed. Years of practice had given him a steady hand.

At least Hook had the decency to lodge her in his cabin, as opposed to down in the hold of the ship with any of the other rabble. His cabin was warm and well-maintained, just as you would suspect from looking at the man. It was true, he had something of a penchant for red velvet, but it went well with the dark wood paneling.

Wendy raised herself up on her elbow and looked around the cabin. Things had changed a bit since she had last been here. Namely, Hook had installed bookshelves along one wall of the room, and they were filled with books of all shapes and sizes.

Unable to resist, she climbed from the bed and knelt on the floor next to them, running her hands over the spines. There were dozens she had never seen nor heard of, tales of piracy and fantasy, fairyland and mermaids, almost as of Neverland itself. She took one at random and opened it across her lap, taking in the words and the beautiful illustrations as if they were nourishment.

"I see you've found my treasure trove," Hook said from behind her. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"They're beautiful," she said, caressing the pages. "Where did you get them?"

Hook smiled. "I have my ways and means, Wendy-bird. You of all people should know that." There was a tenderness in his voice she had heretofore never known.

She brushed that thought and the image of his smile away. "Why am I here, Hook? What is it that you want with Peter that includes me?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, my dear girl, I am lost without your Pan. The Neverland is lost without him. There is no center to anchor it, nothing which will hold us fast." He began twirling his mustache again. "It is hard to remember a time now before him…in fact, it makes me wonder if we didn't somehow spring into being upon his arrival here."

"You cannot have him back," Wendy said defiantly. "He is where he belongs now, with my family. With me."

Hook laughed. "Oh my dear girl, you have no idea, do you?" He began walking about the cabin, rubbing his hand and his hook together with barely-suppressed glee. "He was going to leave you. He was going to forget everything of his life there and come back. He misses the Neverland, misses it more than he could ever love you."

Wendy's heart jolted at this cruel blow, her greatest fears given life at the word of this most hated and vile man. "If that were true, why did you have to take me? If he were coming back, there would be no reason for me to be here."

Hook stopped pacing and gently rested his hook on Wendy's shoulder, a touch that sent a shiver though her. "Oh my dear, dear Wendy-bird, how easily you trust. True, Pan wouldn't come with me today, but he wanted to. I could sense it within him. It was guilt that kept him there. Guilt, not love." He brushed her hair away from her face.

"No mere girl could ever compare with the wonders of this place. A kiss compared to a swordfight, to a mermaid lagoon? And your wedding day, should you drag the poor boy that far? Nothing compared to the joy of flying, of soaring on the back of the wind with nothing between yourself and the ground but an expanse of sky." He smiled, but it was cruel. "Face it, my girl. He _will_ be back. And this time, nothing will drag him away, especially the charms of a girl whose only gift is telling stories."

"You seem to have grown quite fond of stories, Captain," Wendy said, allowing a bit of a sneer to enter her voice. "Your cabin is quite full of them."

Hook pressed down on her shoulder with his namesake, and it took all Wendy had not to cry out in pain from the pressure on the bone. "I wouldn't presume too much if I were you, girl. You realize, once I have the Pan, I no longer have need of you, especially now that I can tell tales of my own, thanks to these."

The man removed the hook and walked toward the door, his red velvet coat swishing as he moved. "He'll be here soon, Wendy-bird. If you want to stay alive beyond his arrival, I suggest you remember yourself."

Wendy let the book fall to the floor as she rubbed her aching shoulder, a hint of tears in her eyes. She didn't want to give Hook the satisfaction of crying, so she recited the names of all of her family members to take her mind away from the pain.

Hook hadn't been lying, at least about Peter missing the Neverland. She knew now what Peter had been so excited about the other day, how he had once again found his crow. The letter he'd been holding, it was from Hook, inviting him to return. Wendy knew Peter would never fully be rid of the place, the terrible, wonderful place, but she had hoped that he had been happy with her.

Now she just didn't know, and not knowing was worse than Peter telling her a hundred times over that he wished to leave.

Out on the deck, under the stars, Hook took in a deep lungful of air. Pan was coming, he could smell it on the wind. Perhaps he had been a bit too harsh with the girl, but it was better that she know sooner than later. Pan was coming back to Neverland, and this time, Hook intended him to stay.


End file.
